A Journey that Changes Everything
by harmony mackenzie rabb
Summary: Complete and revised Harm goes to Paraguay to save Mac. He finally discovers his true feelings for her, but will he have enough time to tell her how he really feels for her.
1. Foreboding

A Journey that Changes Everything  
  
For it is the very mark of Eros that when he is in us we had rather share unhappiness with the Beloved than be happy on any other terms. Even if the two lovers are mature and experienced people who know that broken hearts heal in the end and can clearly foresee that, if they once steeled themselves to go through the present agony of parting, they would almost certainly be happier ten years hence than marriage is at all likely to make them-even then, they would not part. To Eros all these calculations are irrelevant. Even when it becomes clear beyond all evasion that marriage with the Beloved cannot possibly lead to happiness-when it cannot even profess to offer any other life than that of tending an incurable invalid, of hopeless poverty, of exile, or of disgrace-Eros never hesitates to say, "Better this than parting. Better to be miserable with her than happy without her. Let our hearts break provided they break together." If the voice within us does not say this, then it is not the voice of Eros. This is the grandeur and terror of love.-Lewis  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Foreboding  
  
"Flight 209 to Paraguay is now boarding," the flight attendant stated congenially over the loud speaker.  
  
I got up from the leather airport chair I'd been sitting in. The day had been interminably long and it didn't help that I'd had so many things on my mind. Mainly Sarah Mackenzie had been on it. Since she left me that night standing, staring at the door, with only my thoughts and my paralytic tongue to keep me company, worry had clamped its icy fingers around my body and soul, wrenching them apart. It left me only my thoughts of her, slipping through the cracks of its dark clutches. I couldn't sleep, eat or even think straight.   
  
Once again the flight attendant called the flight, which knocked me out of my shadowy daydreams. I grabbed my ticket and handed it to the attractive attendant. After she checked it, she brushed my hand flirtatiously as she proffered my ticket. In my natural state I would've done something. At least given her a smile, but I was in another world. A world overflowing with thoughts of Mac.   
  
I took my seat and looked out the window. As I gazed out, I quickly became absorbed into the reverie that had haunted me for the past few days. I hadn't meant for this to happen, but it did.   
  
It hadn't taken me long after I'd gotten to know Mac to realize that she was different from the rest of the women I had known. She came along and made my carefully calculated plans fly swiftly out the window. I kept pushing down those feelings I'd felt welling up inside of me, terrified that they might escape. She was not just a woman - a pair of soft arms to help me momentarily forget my loneliness and the ghosts of my past. She was in some mysterious way, the woman.   
  
I grew more uncertain, and became more frightened when, after fooling myself into believing we could be just friends, I found my love and my admiration grew unbounded for her. The more time we spent together, fighting side by side, fighting each other, sharing our deepest hurts and pains from the past, the more inextricably close we grew.   
  
I can only remember crying in front of one other woman in my life - my mother. I've allowed myself to cry in front of Mac three times. Mac knows me like no other human being has ever known me. And I know her just as intimately, and that had scared the hell out of me. I tried to run for my life. I ran back to the sea, and to the air. I ran to other women. I tried many times to settle for imitation. Renee, Annie, Jordan, never letting them have all of me, and I thought that could be enough. But, Mac had blown them all away, until there was nothing left for me to cling to but her, every time. In the end, it was always her I swam back to.  
  
She had been the lighthouse in the storm-tossed sea of my life. No matter how many times the wind had blown me about, and her too, we always came back together. There was no escaping it. I never believed I could reach the point to which she had brought me. And so, I had decided to accept the inevitable and stop running from the truth. I was going to tell her what I felt. I just had to get to her somehow. I should've told her before she left. My thoughts scrambled back to the last time I talked to Mac in my apartment.   
  
Flashback  
  
As I sat there strumming my guitar, I heard a knock at the door. I walked over and opened it, revealing Mac.  
  
"Hey!"   
  
"Hi!" she replied.  
  
Seeing my guitar she asked, "Are you entertaining?" She peeked into my apartment, as if expecting a woman.   
  
"Uh, no, uh, just entertaining myself," I assured her, as we smiled at each other and she walked over to the kitchen counter.   
  
"I just came by to see how you are, after all you've been through." She gazed up searchingly into my eyes.  
  
"Well, so far no one's accused me of murder," I joked, grinning at her.   
  
"Well, it's early yet," she teased, as she slipped her jacket off, revealing a black dress.   
  
"That's true," I replied. And then I spotted it. For a moment, I felt as if a sledgehammer has been rammed into my stomach. How could she have become pregnant without my knowledge? Have I been that out of it lately? She should've told me. Who's the father? Thoughts whirled around dizzyingly in my mind. As usual, when confronted with even a glimmer of my feelings toward her, my eloquence stepped to the fore.  
  
"Whoa!"  
  
"What?" she uttered with feigned innocence. She smiled and eyed me knowingly.   
  
"Is there something you want to tell me?" I questioned, still aghast that I had not noticed this before. I was getting old, positively geriatric, to miss something like this.  
  
"Mmm... Plenty," she said, still grinning irrepressibly. That mischievous dimple I love appeared on her cheek.   
  
"How did you hide this?"  
  
"Bigger clothes."   
  
At this point, I struggled steadfastly to regain my composure. But, all I could do was think, 'How could she do something like this? I thought we had something.' Then I came to the realization that we were nothing more than friends at the moment. There were no promises, only unspoken, numinous feelings. So, I stepped up to her and touched her swollen stomach. Then I realized it wasn't what I thought. She had something under there, a pillow or something.  
  
"There's a story here, somewhere," I asserted, not really knowing what else to say. All I knew was, that I was a happy, and very relieved, man.  
  
"Listen, I'm going away," she said, a sudden seriousness clouding her features.   
  
"Where?" This, of course, made me immediately feel suspicious, and something else - aggressively protective.   
  
"Can't say," she replied mysteriously.  
  
I didn't like this one bit.   
  
"For how long?" I started to feel the panic well up inside, again. I didn't know what to do. I hated being out of control. I hated not knowing. What if she needed me?  
  
"Don't know," she stated, still being enigmatic, but this time a glimmer of recognition struck.  
  
"This has Webb written all over it," I declared, before even realizing I was uttering my suspicions aloud. Webb was somehow always behind something like this.  
  
"He needed a pregnant wife. I'm his cover story."   
  
She looked at me strangely - perhaps lovingly. Or, perhaps my addled brain was playing tricks on me. I wasn't exactly in top form at that point in time.  
  
"Is it dangerous?" I queried, uncertainly. I didn't know why it worried me so much, but for some intangible reason, I sensed something wasn't right.  
  
"Very. We travel to Paraguay tonight, but I needed to know that you were okay. You've been through a lot lately," she informed me. Her brow was lined with worry, her large dark eyes, caring. She saw my face pale, full of panic and shock.  
  
"I'm coming back, you know," she told me, as she rose from the chair.   
  
"You don't know that," I contended desperately. She slipped back into her beige coat, as I laid my guitar down. "I don't want you to go, Mac."   
  
I gazed at her intensely. My hands were starting to sweat and I had an aching feeling in the pit my stomach. Mac seemed a little annoyed, and slightly amused. She shook her head.   
  
"Why is it that you are only like this when I have one foot out the door?" Her arms were folded in front of her, her eyebrows raised, questioningly. I simply stared at her. "Your interest always fades when I might be in a position to actually return it."   
  
I stood there like an idiot. Why was it that I couldn't tell her how I really felt? That I was worried that I might not see her again, and that I needed her right now?   
  
Mac crossed the room to the door, and as she opened it to leave me, I choked out, "Mac!"   
  
Pathetic. That was all I could get out. I had so much I wanted to tell her, but all I could say was her name. She paused, looked at me a bit sadly, turned her head and withdrew, closing the door silently behind her.   
  
The plane started to roll down the runway and took off, dragging me back to reality. That last talk with her had carved indelibly and unceasingly through my mind. I laid awake every night, hearing echoes about my interest fading when she was in a position to return it. Peace eluded me, not that we were ever familiar for long, anyway.   
  
I tried to reposition myself in my seat. These little seats were not very accommodating for a man of my height. My legs were almost numb. After I regained some semblance of comfort, my mind dipped back into the black hole of memory. I'd tried to find out where she was. However, I kept hitting dead ends. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to go ask the Admiral if he could give me any clue to her whereabouts. Of course, it was a bad idea because he refused to tell me anything. All he did was assure me that if there was anything wrong, he'd let me know.  
  
That night, I had a nightmare about her wearing the same black dress she had on the last time I saw her. She was walking hand in hand with Webb to a taxi where a man waited with the door open. As they got in, another man walked up behind them. The man holding the door backed up, while the man from behind pulled out a gun. Mac looked at gunman and shouted to Webb. Both were shot several times. I remember shooting straight up in bed, and gasping for breath. That dream strengthened the tortuous fears that had plagued me recently, that something was going to go wrong. I needed to see her so bad that I ached.   
  
I had to find a way to get a hold of her. So, I had called the one person who I thought could know were they were. I still remember the talk I had with Webb's mother...  
  
Those thoughts were just some of the things that stalked me on the flight. By the time I looked out of the window again, all I saw was bleak darkness, as if staring at a reflection of my inner turmoil. That was how I felt inside. It felt as if there was a part of me that was missing. There was this vortex, this black abyss, sucking out all of the light inside my soul. I felt empty, and alone at the same time. I needed her so badly. I didn't care about anything else. The darkness in my soul was voraciously consuming my every waking moment and when I was asleep I'd try to rise into that darkness to find her, but I couldn't.  
  
Before I knew it I was fast asleep dreaming of her.  
  
End Of Chapter 1 


	2. Nightmare

Think of me waking, silent and resigned. Imagine me trying too hard to put you from my mind. Recall those days. Look back on all those times. Think of the things we'll never do. There will never be a day when I won't think of you.-A.L.W. & C. Hart  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Nightmare  
  
Two hours into the flight, dreams of Mac filled my mind. Some were excellent dreams where we got married and had kids. Those kinds of dreams one has about the future and being with the one they love. And, then those horrible dreams of losing her came back to me. There was one that started great but turned dreadful. That one hit me the worst.  
  
**************Dream **************  
  
After 7 years, we were finally there, standing next to each other. I was wearing my dress whites. Mac's dress made her look ethereal. She was the most beautiful and outstanding person that I had ever met. Our wedding ceremony was in a rose garden, Mac's idea, which was reminiscent of the first place we saw each other. We'd had so many things go wrong, that it was hard to believe that we had finally made it here.  
  
I gave her one of my special smiles reserved for her. She smiled back and I could see all the love and desire in her eyes. I wanted to drown in those eyes.   
  
She gave my hand a quick tug to get me to pay attention to the preacher. I smiled at her again and mouthed, 'I love you'. Then the preacher began to speak. It felt like an eternity, but, it was finally time to say our vows to each other. Each of us repeated after the preacher. I looked into her eyes and willingly said those words that would make us one forever.  
  
"I, Harmon Rabb Jr., take you Sarah Mackenzie , to be my wife, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish our friendship and love you today, tomorrow, and forever. I will trust you and honor you. I will laugh with you and cry with you. I will love you faithfully, through the best and the worst. Through the difficult and the easy. Whatever may come I will always be there. As I have given you my hand to hold, so I give you my life to keep. So help me God," I stated, sincerity reverberating out of every fiber of my being. Then, with the same love and with all her heart she promised me the same.   
  
Together we vowed, "Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you. For where you go, I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. Where you die, I will die and there I will be buried. May the Lord do so with me and more if anything but death parts you from me."  
  
After some more words were spoken the preacher said, "You may kiss the bride." It was a kiss filled with love, want and need for each other. I almost forgot where we were at. Then we turned around and the preacher declared, "I would like to present Commander and Mrs. Harmon Rabb Jr."   
  
We started to walk down the aisle, as I held her hand and smiled at her. I kept thinking that it was the best day of my life. I glanced down the rows of delighted, and teary-eyed friends and saw someone I'd never seen before. I couldn't even make out his face, but I could make out that he had something silver in his left hand. I was so distracted though, I really didn't pay much attention to it. And the minute I turned my head, he had disappeared. A nagging fear plucked at the back of my mind, but I shoved it back. She looked at me and asked if something was wrong, and I assured her that everything was perfect.  
  
Then, without warning, that same man whose face was unknown to me, but somehow known to Mac, was in front of us with a gun. Before I could even react he shot my wife. I grabbed her as she fell into my arms. Hot sticky blood stained her dress and my uniform. Everyone was screaming and wailing, and I was crying - and I didn't know what to do.  
  
I looked up to see who the man was and I finally realized it was Webb. Shock reigned over my mind, that this could be.  
  
"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS, YOU ASSHOLE?!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.  
  
Webb yelled back at me, his face purple with rage and hate.  
  
"YOU, OF ALL PEOPLE SHOULD KNOW. I LOVED HER. AND WHEN SHE CHOSE YOU OVER ME, I DECIDED THAT I WOULD END HER LIFE ON THE HAPPIEST DAY OF HER LIFE, AND YOURS. I HATE YOU SO MUCH--SO MUCH, THAT I'M NOT GOING TO KILL YOU. I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU LIVE YOUR LIFE WITHOUT HER. NOT ONLY THAT, BUT YOU GET TO LIVE YOUR LIFE NEVER BEING ABLE TO PUNISH THE MAN WHO DID THIS TO YOU." Then he took the gun and shot himself in the head. More blood splattered over us, as Webb fell at Mac's feet.  
  
"Sarah? OH GOD NO!" I kissed her on the head, and whispered over and over again to her that I loved her, and to stay awake.   
  
I awoke with tears stinging my eyes. She couldn't be dead. She had to be alive. Without her my life would be nothing. I left everything behind for her.   
  
I glanced at my watch and saw that there was still 8 hours left before we reached South America. I still had no clue what I would find there. All I knew was that Gunny was going to help me when I arrived.  
  
End of chapter 2 


	3. A letter To Sarah

I wept as I remembered how often you and I had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.- Callimachus /victory/quotations/authors/quotes_callimachus.html  
  
If we could know which of us, darling, would be the first to go, who would be first to breast the swelling tide and step alone upon the other side - if we could know! -C. S. Lewis /quotes/authors/c/a125926.html   
  
CHAPTER 3  
  
A letter to Sarah  
  
Dinner had just been served and 'X-Men II' was being shown for the in-flight movie. Since my mind wasn't into watching a comic book-turned-movie, I decided to write a letter to Mac. I doubted I would ever show it to her. But, I thought when I saw her, maybe if I wrote my thoughts down I might actually be able to express them to her. And maybe it will keep me from slowly going mad from the wait, and the unknown. Writing was supposed to be therapeutic. So, I took out my notebook and a pen and started to write.  
  
My dear Sarah,  
  
Where do I start? First off, once and for all I need to tell you that I not only love you, but that I am in love with you. I have been for awhile. I just haven't been sure how to tell you, or if I should tell you. You know how I like to complicate things. Just when I figured out that I needed to tell you how I felt, my tongue once again failed me, and you left me. I wish you hadn't left the way you did the last time we talked. Ever since then I've been going crazy with worry. I dealt with it in my usual way. I stayed focused on finding you, and making it right. And nothing could sway me from my task. I even called Webb's mom to see if I could get a hold of you, but no luck.   
  
Then it came to me to call Catherine Gale, the CIA lawyer who we worked with on the Angelshark investigation. As I was trying to contact her, I had to stop because the Admiral and Meredith arrived to announce their engagement. Can you believe it?! The old man's getting married. No date set yet, though. I'm happy for them. He's a great man. He grabbed up his girl as soon as he realized she was the one. No wonder he's my superior - he knows to hold onto a good thing while he has it. I, on the other hand--I let the past control me when it comes to matters of the heart.   
  
Do you have any idea how worried I am about you? This is why I've tried so hard to keep us from falling for each other. But, I failed. I wasn't strong enough. And now, here I am, on that same sickeningly familiar precipice, searching for the one person I have left in my life that I love above all else. Could you love me too? Have you given up on this tired, old sailor? I hope not.  
  
I'm praying that you're okay. I don't understand why I feel such a foreboding about this mission. The day after I met with Catherine, Deputy Director Kershaw got news from Agent Hardy, the station chief there. Unfortunately, it was not good news. He called the Admiral to tell him that things were not going the way they should. It seems that they'd lost contact with you and Webb. He couldn't tell the Admiral much, but what he did tell him was that Gunny had been working undercover as well over there. And that Gunny had been shot and was recovering in Paraguay. He also told the Admiral that Gunny would be calling to bring him up to date on the exact details.   
  
While all this was happening, I was in my office, weary as hell, misery encompassing my entire body. I hadn't slept again, and you came and spoke to me in a dream. I heard those damning words, and then I saw you lying somewhere, your delicate body hurt and shivering, and barely conscious, my name whispered interminably on your trembling lips.   
  
I came in early that day, since I didn't rest, couldn't rest, until I found out whether or not you were okay. Just then, Tiner came into my office saying that the Admiral wanted to see me right away. I double-timed it to his office. Once there, I listened to what he told me and at the same time I felt like dying. He said that Gunny would be calling in about an hour. The only thing I could think of was, if they'd hurt you--God, I didn't know what I'd do.   
  
During that hour of waiting that crawled along on its twisted limbs like a cripple, I must have suffered all of the agonies of hell. Why did I let you leave that night?! The Admiral, with his usual perceptiveness, told me not to worry so much, that everything would be okay. It brought me no solace. I'll only feel better once I have you safe in my arms.   
  
Gunny finally called and the Admiral put him on speaker phone.   
  
"Hello, sir."   
  
Gunny sounded rough.  
  
"How you doing Gunny?" the Admiral questioned.  
  
"As good as can be expected, sir. I'm alive - if that counts for anything."   
  
"The Commander's here with me. We'd like to know where you are."  
  
"Sir, right now I'm in Ciudad del Este, I just got released from the hospital yesterday."  
  
"What the hell is going on over there, Gunny? Since when have you been undercover with the CIA?" he demanded sharply.  
  
"I've been undercover here in Paraguay, under the pretense of working for Raul Garcia, a local drug lord, for about four weeks, sir. Mr. Webb helped me get the job. He said he needed someone he could trust. I guess that's why he picked the Colonel, as well. Mr. Webb and Mac made a deal with Raul Garcia. They made a swap, two circuit boards for the Stinger Missiles, Sadik Fahd, a terrorist, needed. Mr. Webb and the Colonel got diamonds from Garcia, and Garcia traded the circuit boards to Sadik Fahd for 20 Million dollars worth of uncut coke."  
  
"How did you end up getting shot, Gunny?" I questioned.  
  
"Well, sir, Garcia had me go with a couple of Fahd's bodyguards. When I got there, and they tested the boards. I checked in with Mr. Webb. Just as I was advised to get my six out of there, Fahd came out surrounded by some of his men, and grabbed my phone. He questioned me. I tried to play it off, but it didn't work. They took me down to a shack to torture me. But Mac and Mr. Webb knew that things had gone wrong. And they came after me. We tried to make it to their vehicle to get out of there, but things didn't go quite as planned. And I got shot. The Colonel and Mr. Webb actually made it to the vehicle, but it was blown over onto its side by a grenade thrown by one of Sadik's men."  
  
At that point, I jumped from my chair.  
  
"What happened to the Colonel, Gunny? Did she make it?"   
  
The Admiral eyed me, but said nothing.  
  
"We got taken into the shack and held there. They tortured me, and Webb. Mr. Webb and Mac insisted that they make a distraction and help me escape. They were both pretty banged up, sir. Unless we get them some help out there, I don't think they'll make it. Fahd only wants one thing, to know who they work for, and what they know so far, and then they'll be useless to him. I informed the station chief here. He said he'd take care of it. That's all I know at the moment, sir."  
  
"Keep us informed. You get some rest, Gunny. That'll be all."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Gunny hung up, and I turned to the Admiral.  
  
I asked the Admiral to let me help you two. I told him that I was sure I'd find you. I knew that in that state of mind I wasn't making a good impression on him, though. And he told me that he needed me there, that the CIA was in a better position to handle it.  
  
I tried to get the Admiral to budge, but he was immoveable. He still denied me leave. There was no way in hell that I was going to leave you there and sit at JAG with my hands folded, waiting for news. So, I took off my wings and placed them on his desk and I told him that I was resigning my commission. Then I turned and left the Admiral standing there, stunned.  
  
I went back to my office and grabbed a few things that I needed. Bud came up to me and asked me if everything was okay. I told him no, and that I was leaving for awhile. I didn't tell him that I was leaving JAG. But, he asked me how I managed to get leave when the Colonel was gone, and we were already short-handed. When I didn't answer him, I think he knew. Everyone knew that I'd been worried about you. It's not exactly like I tried to hide it.  
  
"He didn't give you leave, did he? This is for good, isn't it, sir?" Bud asked, eyes widened with apprehension.  
  
"I have to go find Mac. She needs me."  
  
"But, sir--"  
  
My letter went unfinished because, before I knew it the plane was only moments away from the airport. I folded the paper I'd written on, placed it in my jacket pocket, and gathered my overnight bag, readying myself to exit the plane as soon as possible. I still couldn't believe that I left JAG and the Navy. They'd been my whole life. My cell phone rang countless times, but I hadn't answered it. I felt kind of bad, not telling Bud or Sturgis where I was going. But, it was too late for thinking about all that. I was to meet Gunny at the hotel later today. From there all I knew was that I would find her, and I would save her - no matter what the cost.  
  
End of chapter 3 


	4. Whistle Down The Wind

The way to love anything is to realize it might be lost.-G.K. Chesterton  
  
Whistle down the wind. Let your voices carry. Drown out all the rain, light a patch of darkness treacherous and scary. Howl at the stars. Whisper when you're sleeping. I'll be there to hold you. I'll be there to stop the chills and all the weeping. Make it clear and strong, so the whole night long - every signal that you send until the very end, I will not abandon you, my precious friend.-Jim Steiner  
  
CHAPTER 4  
  
Whistle Down The Wind   
  
Finally, I had arrived in Paraguay. Now, I had to find the hotel that Gunny was staying at. It didn't help that I didn't speak the language, except for a few lines. I had scribbled down the address of the hotel where we were to meet on the first available sheet of paper. I clutched my overnight bag, the only bag I'd brought with me, and dug through the side pocket to find that sheet of paper.   
  
I hadn't really had enough time to grab more than a few changes of clothes and toiletry items that I could stuff into it. Every minute that I was doing something else, Mac could be in danger of dying. Once I exited the busy airport, I got into a taxi. Luckily, the cab driver knew enough English to understand where I needed to go.  
  
On the way to the hotel, I paid no attention to the colorful people and their warm, earthy homes. I could only focus on what Gunny and I had to do. Gunny would know where Mac and Webb were. I figured that we could go to Hardy, the CIA station chief there, and see if they had a rescue operation planned. I doubted it, though. The CIA had no brotherhood policy that left room for 'leave no man behind'.   
  
Before I knew it the taxi came to a halt in front of a rather simple looking hotel. I gave the driver American money, which he was more than happy to take, and then I stepped out of the taxi and walked into the hotel. Once inside, I took out my cell phone and called Gunny.   
  
"Hola."   
  
"Hello, Gunny. It's Harm."   
  
"Hello, sir. Where are you right now?" he asked me.  
  
"I'm downstairs," I replied.  
  
"Be down in a few minutes, sir."  
  
"No, let me come up to you. What room number are you in, Gunny?"  
  
"26a, sir."  
  
"I'll be there shortly."  
  
Then I hung up and hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  
  
As I urged up the stairs, I pondered the treatment Gunny had borne during his imprisonment. I knew that Gunny was shot during the rescue attempt, and that he was tortured, but I didn't know how badly he was hurt. I felt that once I saw him, it would help me see more fully what the other two had endured as well. Ever since I'd heard about their capture and about the pain suffered by Gunny and Webb, fear had ferociously plunged his steel dagger deep into my heart, and since then, his cold blade had been twisting itself ever deeper into its depths. I couldn't help but worry about what I would find when I finally got to Mac.   
  
Eventually, I arrived at Gunny's door and knocked. We greeted each other. I noted his pallid skin and his face roughened by a dark stubble. As I entered the room, I placed my bag on a chair.   
  
"Sir, do you need to use the phone to call the Admiral and tell him you've arrived?" Gunny questioned.  
  
"It's not sir anymore, Gunny."  
  
"Sir?"   
  
Old habits died hard.  
  
"I resigned my commission."  
  
Gunny was dumbfounded.  
  
"Quit the Navy, sir?"  
  
"Somebody had to go after Mac and Webb. I knew the CIA wasn't going to do it."  
  
Gunny gave a short nod of understanding.  
  
"How were they the last time you saw them, Gunny?" He hesitated. "I have to know."  
  
"They were pretty merciless in their methods. If they can't extract the knowledge they want from them, they'll kill them trying. That was a few days ago, sir."  
  
Gunny's admission had confirmed what, in my heart, I'd already known. It confirmed what had seemed tenuous and almost impossible before - that Mac and Webb might already be dead. My mind had been practically decimated by the torturous thoughts that had riddled it. This new knowledge assailed my mind, and laid it to further waste.  
  
"We need to go see the station chief. I'd like to see if we could get some help from him."  
  
"Let's get going."  
  
During the cab ride to the station chief, we both were silent, lost in our own separate reveries.  
  
Upon arriving, a quiet man in a somber suit took us up three flights of stairs. There were so many turns and convoluted halls, that I doubted I'd be able to find my way out without a map. Spooks.  
  
We finally made it to Hardy's office. A man motioned for us to halt, and we did so, as he knocked on Hardy's door. We heard a muffled,   
  
"Come in, McGovern, and bring Rabb and Galindez with you." He led us inside, and then turned, closing the door behind him. Hardy was sitting in a chair, puffing comfortably on a cigar, while poring over a few files.  
  
"Hello, gentlemen, please have a seat," the man stated.  
  
We seated ourselves. Hardy stood and sauntered across the room. He reached a rather ornately carved wooden box and opened it. Offering the box to us, he asked, "Would you like one?"   
  
"No, thanks." I was concerned with much more pressing matters at the moment than having a smoke.   
  
He shrugged and smiled jovially.  
  
"Your loss. How may I help you two gentleman?" he inquired.  
  
"Chief, I wondered if you had come to a decision since the last time we spoke. We could use some help getting Mr. Webb and the Colonel back," Gunny informed Hardy.  
  
"You're not doing anything. I told you before, we would handle it. You don't know these men, they're dangerous. Besides, I don't need you poking your noses into it and messing things up. There are greater things at risk here than the lives of your buddies."  
  
"So, you're telling us you won't help us. Then, I guess we're done here. Thank you, Mr. Hardy," I stated. At this point, I saw no reason to hang around and waste precious time. I got up and walked to the door. Gunny followed suit. Hardy narrowed his eyes.  
  
"You're going to go after them, anyway, aren't you?" he said, coming up to me, and looking me straight in the eyes. "You have guts for a lawyer, but I meant what I said, you're risking the lives of the many for the lives of two people."  
  
He opened the door and nodded to McGovern, who was standing by.  
  
"Now, please follow McGovern and he'll show you the way out."   
  
McGovern led us out by a different route than the way we entered.  
  
Two hours later  
  
Gunny and I managed to find a vehicle, and brought along a couple of guns that he had stashed in his room. Since we didn't have any help, we thought it would be better if we went in under the cover of night.   
  
By the time dusk's purple hues shot across the mellow amber and rose of the sky, we made it to the place where Mac and Webb were being held. It was in a remote area, surrounded by trees. We decided to hide the truck in the thick band of trees surrounding Fahd's home, and walk the final mile. A hush nestled over the grounds. The only sounds were an occasional bird singing, and the sound of laughter, carried by the breeze, drifting to our vantage point. There were at least 10 men outside with guns, and who knew how many inside.   
  
Gunny went ahead of me when we got to the edge of the trees, while I covered for him. He slowly snaked over to a place near the shack that contained Mac and Webb. Once there, he signaled to me from his hiding place. Two guards were standing in front of the shack, guarding Sadik's prey. Surreptitiously, I followed Gunny's suit. This was the worst part - the agonizing wait. I spoke to Gunny, my voice lowered,  
  
"Can you tell if they're still alive?"  
  
Before he could reply, I had my answer. In the shack I heard shuffling. Angry shouts spiked the air, followed by hellish screams. They sounded like they were coming from Webb. I stood up with fists clenched, rage shook my entire frame. Gunny stopped me. I succeeded in breaking his iron grasp banding my arms, and steamed toward the shack. But, Gunny jerked me back by whispering desperately after me,  
  
"You're killing them with every step you take, sir."  
  
This stopped me cold. I hesitated for a moment and then reluctantly headed back to our hiding place. More screams split the air. I had no choice but to sit and suffer the torments of the damned.   
  
Eventually, the remaining heat of the sun chilled into the ebony shroud of night. The song of the birds was replaced by the chirping of crickets. And the lights flared from the house. It was time.  
  
I rose from our hiding place, steeling my self to enter the shack. However, Gunny grabbed my arm to quell me, and pointed to something with his eyes. Then I heard it. The sound of footsteps crunching on the grass. A man, surrounded by guards, paused before the shack and peered over to where Gunny and I crouched. His eyes then wandered around the perimeter of the shack. Satisfied, he entered. The two guards he brought with him settled themselves outside the hovel with their counterparts.   
  
A few minutes later the man came out, and demanded something of one of his men, in Farsi. The guard entered the shack and came out with a badly beaten Webb. He had blood all over him and his eyes were swollen shut. His flesh was tainted pink and blue with bruises. He was a shell of his former self. He staggered falteringly along with them, mumbling something incoherent. I tried to catch what it was, but it faded as they hauled him away. Gunny and I eyed each other and silently agreed to wait longer. We couldn't leave Webb behind.   
  
Later  
  
Some time later, we finally spotted Webb being taken back to the shack. He was being dragged by the same two men he left with. His legs scraped across the ground, his arms were limp. Regardless of the painful scuff of his legs over the ground, Webb didn't wince, or even move. This led me to comprehend he was unconscious. But, it wasn't until they opened the door of the shack and light spilled upon his flaccid form that we saw the garish reality. His body and features were so mauled, he barely looked human.   
  
The man, who I had gathered by now was Fahd, came out and flashed something at the guard, and they retreated back into the house, only to come back out a few minutes later. He and a great deal of his men got into several vehicles and rumbled off into the night.   
  
"You take the guy on the left and I'll take the one on the right," I uttered in hushed tones.  
  
Gunny nodded in silent assent and we stealthily inched toward the men. The night harbored me, Gunny and my anger, which was alive and kicking, and hurtling me towards the shack. And, even though she was so close, it felt like it was taking an eternity to span the chasm between the shack that held her and I. The men saw us charging toward them and the one on the left hit Gunny with the butt of his gun. The guard I was after aimed his gun at me, but I landed a well-placed punch in the head. The man slipped to the ground.   
  
Gunny was struggling with the guard who dazed him with the butt of his gun, so I intervened. I grabbed the man's rifle and we struggled with it. Gunny lurched, trying to steady himself. He'd been through a lot in the past few days. I got a punch in and the man dropped the gun. Gunny grabbed it and pointed it at the man. The man held his hands in the air suppliantly. There was complete silence over the place.  
  
Gunny stayed behind, keeping an eye on things. He was bleeding from the fresh wound inflicted upon him by the guard, and his skin looked clammy and moist. He said nothing, just stood there valiantly surveying the grounds. Gunny was a solider and he'd keep going. I rushed over to the shack.   
  
Jerking the door open, I squinted at the lights, dim though they were, suddenly shining in my eyes, and found Mac and Webb on the floor. He was the closest. His prone body laid crumpled in the dust. I checked his pulse. When I found his flesh was as cold as stone, I forced myself not to withdraw my hand. His pulse was thready and faint, but there. Mac was a little further away, hunched over in a darkened corner. I dashed over to her. My heart was about to beat out of my chest. My body trembled involuntarily.   
  
As I got closer, I failed to notice that she'd moved her leg in front of me. Tripping over her foot, I fell to the ground. That shot a gaping hole in my pride. I had planned on coming in here and sweeping her up heroically. Suddenly, she was on top of me with one of her fists clinched. I got a better look at her from this angle. The natural tawny color of her skin had been replaced by the chalky pallor of death. The only signs of color I could see anywhere on her, were the dark stains of bruising and scratches covering her body. She looked fragile, her thin body and the dark circles underscoring her eyes didn't help matters. I opened my mouth to speak, since I could tell she was so out of it, she hadn't yet recognized me, when she lifted her clinched hand and threw dirt in my eyes.  
  
"If I'm going, I'm taking one of you with me!!"  
  
I sputtered and coughed from the dirt she threw at me. As I rubbed my eyes and cursed, she grabbed the gun from my other hand and I felt the cool metal pressed against my forehead.   
  
"No!!"  
  
She pulled the trigger.  
  
End of Chapter 4 


	5. I Loved You

I loved you--and my love, I think, was stronger than to be quite extinct within me yet. But let it not distress you any longer. I would not have you feel the least regret. I loved you bare of hope and of expression. By turns with jealousy and shyness sore. I loved you with such purity, such passion as may God grant you to be loved once more.-Pushkin  
  
Chapter 5  
  
I loved you  
  
As she pulled the trigger, I instinctively lifted one of the hands raking the dirt from my eyes, and hit the gun to the side. The gun went off, but the bullet succeeded only in scraping across my cheek. I didn't have time to think before she lifted the gun again. She struggled with me as I grabbed her wrists. Blood trickled down my cheek, seeping onto the stained floor. My heart was pumping madly.  
  
"MAC, it's Harm!"   
  
She gave an abrupt start, and stilled, sitting there in my lap, surveying me.  
  
"Harm?" Her voice broke upon my name. She placed a cool, white hand on my face in trepidation. Upon feeling the blood slipping from my cheek she violently drew her hand back, and then just collapsed on top of me, clinging fervently. "Oh my God! I'm sorry--I'm so sorry! I thought you were one of the guards."   
  
I placed my arms around her, clenching her fiercely to my chest.  
  
"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"  
  
"I was praying someone would help us, but, I never thought you'd be able to come."  
  
"I'm your best friend, Mac. How could you doubt that I would do whatever was in my power to save your life--just as you would for me?"  
  
As she opened her mouth to reply, Gunny signaled from outside that we needed to hurry.  
  
"Come on, we need to get out of here," I urged reluctantly.  
  
She moved from me, and I found myself missing the warmth of her. I called to Gunny to come and help me with Webb. He took the captured guard inside and we bound and gagged him, so he was unable to alert the others. Webb was still unconscious, so Gunny and I each grabbed an arm and a leg and carried him out to the brink of the trees. While we were busy doing this, the guard I knocked out stirred, and saw us attempting to escape.   
  
Mac tried to make it out on her own, but faltered. I peered over my shoulder and ascertained that she was having a hard time walking on her tender limbs, so I ran back and swept her up. The guard rose and gave an alarm as I gingerly carried her out nestled in my arms, amidst the torrential hail of gunfire. I wrapped my body protectively over her weak form and absorbed a bullet in my side. Flinching at the searing pain, I continued rushing to the trees. Mac grabbed the gun from the waist of my jeans and began shooting over my shoulder at the guards.   
  
"We need to get to the Stinger missiles. They were headed towards Green River," Mac shouted to me, over the deafening noise.   
  
Upon finally making it to the land rover Gunny and I had left behind, Gunny and I began changing the tire, while Mac conversed with Webb. I pretended that I was immersed in my task when really, I was straining with all that was in me to hear what they were discussing.  
  
I heard her say to Webb, "Please hold on. . . . I enjoyed being your wife. . . "  
  
I couldn't believe what I was hearing! Maybe she did have feelings for him. I dropped the tool I was using and fumbled about on the ground for it. Finally, I handed the tool to Gunny, who returned it to a box. After a moment, I retained some control over the conflicting emotions crashing around in me, and I made my way over to her and Webb.   
  
"Sarah, I need you," Webb informed her weakly.  
  
And then as he tried to tell her more, she hushed him with a gentle kiss. I turned my head in dread not wanting to see, but I turned back, as a man will even when he foresees the expression that he most fears being played out before him--stretching out eternally. I felt guilt tingle in my veins. Guilt because I watched and guilt because, for a moment, I secretly relished animosity toward a good friend. Sensing my presence, she ended the kiss and turned to me with an unreadable countenance.   
  
Then was not the time, however, to worry over personal matters. We needed to get to the missiles. I walked towards that side of the car, and Mac looked at me. She said nothing. She just eyed me with that same strange look and walked away. Had I been a fool to hope that she still secreted, somewhere within her, a spark of that sort of feeling for me?   
  
I could barely stand to talk to Webb right now. He was the reason for all of this. He was the one that wanted her for this mission. He was the one who put her in so much danger. We could've both lost her, for good. And yet, he was also the one that forced me to acknowledge how my love for her. He had been a good friend for many years. He begged me to take care of her. I nodded and turned to walk away.   
  
End of chapter 5 


	6. A Soldier's Faith

And when the wind in the tree-tops roared, the soldier asked from the deep dark grave: "Did the banner flutter then?"  
  
"Not so, my hero," the wind replied.  
  
"The fight is done, but the banner won, thy comrades of old have borne it hence; have borne it in triumph hence."  
  
Then the soldier spake from the deep dark grave: "I am content."   
  
Then he heareth the lovers laughing pass, and the soldier asks once more: "Are these not the voices of them that love, that love--and remember me?"  
  
"Not so, my hero," the lovers say, "We are those that remember not; For the spring has come and the earth has smiled, and the dead must be forgot."  
  
Then the soldier spake from the deep dark grave: "I am content."  
  
-A Soldier's Faith--Oliver Wendell Holmes   
  
Chapter 6  
  
A Soldier's Fate  
  
Mac and I were driving down a dusty road, heading towards Green River. Gunny and Webb had left to find a hospital for the dying man. Mac had quietly scooped the bullet out from my side, as I gritted my teeth. She had cleaned my wound and tore a piece of cloth from one of the shirts I had brought along, as a make-shift bandage. Then we began our mission. On our journey we crossed lush green fields and cows and horses taking cool sips of water from sparkling lakes. She tried to point out to me the beauty around us as a conversation piece, but I was lost in thought.   
  
Before the tender moment I had witnessed between Mac and Webb, I'd been numbed by my perpetual movement--by my tireless need to find her. But, since then time seemed to have frozen, to help me relive my pain, and therefore to amplify it almost unbearably.   
  
I kept on wanting to say something to her, but every time my mouth opened, no sound came out. Repentance had shamed me of my former sentiment, brief though it was, for Webb. He could've died from all the injuries that he had, that was plain to see. Before we left he had slipped back into unconsciousness. How could I have been so selfish? I continued chastising myself, my thoughts intermittently interrupted as I occasionally glanced over to Mac. I could see that Mac was agonizing over him, too. I saw it in her eyes and in her features. Her thoughts faithfully rendered all her emotions in her furrowed brow, and her misty eyes. She looked up and caught me scrutinizing her.  
  
"Harm, are you okay? You haven't spoken a word, or even made a sound, since we left. It looks like you want to say something but you can't find the words," she stated, looking at me. Anguish seeped into her dark eyes. I decided not to increase her tormented feelings--any more than they could refrain from torment. I turned my head so she couldn't read my expression.   
  
"I'm just thinking of things," I said coyly, trying to play it off.   
  
"About what?" she inquired, while placing a hand on my shoulder. My whole body trembled lightly at her touch. It was odd that something so simple would do that to me. Perhaps it was because, to me anyway, my love was known, and unable to be retracted. Or, perhaps it was also because we were endeavoring on another mission to save the world, and for some reason, the ending didn't seem so cut and dried--no matter how it turned out.   
  
"About the missiles and how we are going to destroy them." Technically, I had been thinking of that, too. Her hand was still placed upon my shoulder, and I had to finally look at her. My heart leapt out of my chest, and then jerked back in and up into my throat.   
  
"Don't worry, we'll get the missiles."   
  
"Mmmm--" is the only thing I was able to reply.  
  
She paused a moment and then continued, "Harm, I-I just want to thank you for saving us. I thought all hope was lost, and that Webb and I would die on foreign soil. I prayed that help would come. I prayed that I would see you again. You don't know what we went though in there. What Webb went through in there - for me."   
  
I could see tears escaping her forlorn eyes, she tried to wipe them away quickly. She didn't believe it was fit for a soldier to cry, especially on the battlefield. I took a hand off of the steering wheel and placed it on her cheek, wiping the tears that were making little streaks through the dirt on her lovely face. She smiled weakly as I rested my hand there. Her skin was soft.  
  
"You're safe now. It's over."   
  
"I should've known you'd find some way to convince the Admiral to let you rescue us. Always the swashbuckling hero." I hadn't told her yet everything I had to do to come to her aid. And that was not the time.  
  
"I wish that were true." Mac understood completely, what I uttered quietly.  
  
"Thanks for coming." I took my hand away and gave her the brightest smile I could muster, just for her.   
  
"Look!" Mac pointed to a Mennonite farmer working sturdily in his pasture. A freshly washed, silver bi-plane gleamed in the sun, near his barn.   
  
Before I knew it we had talked the old gentleman into using his plane. I had to give him what little money I had, the keys to the truck, and our ID's, but eventually, we were off. For some reason, feeling the wind in my hair and being so close to the sky that I felt as if I could touch the blueness, it made me feel free. I started to feel my optimism return about the outcome of our mission.  
  
"You okay up here?" I yelled to Mac, over the hum of the engine and the whirling blades.  
  
"Better than the last time I was up," she assured me.   
  
"Come on, Marine. Tell the truth," I challenged laughingly.  
  
"Okay, not really. I feel like crap and on top of that we're in the air. I just hope you can fly this thing. Your previous record makes me wary," she teased.  
  
"Have a little faith in me, will you?" I chortled.  
  
"I do," she assured me as we soared over the landscape.   
  
We continued pleasantly on our way, until Mac turned partially in her seat.  
  
"Down there! That's the truck!!" she informed me.  
  
I grabbed the dynamite that I had taken from the farmer's shed, requesting Mac to take the reins of the plane. She acceded to my request dubiously. As we flew over, the terrorists saw us and began rushing to their weapons. They fired at us, and I had to do some fancy maneuvering to keep them from hitting us. I hurled a stick of dynamite at the truck, missing it, but effectively taking out a few of the men shooting at us. More people started firing at us and bullets riddled the back of the plane. Not good.   
  
Mac went in low again and this time, I didn't miss. We barely escaped as another round of fire was shot at us. I took control of the plane again, and tried to speed our little plane back to safety.   
  
Then all of my nightmares came glaring to life. The engine sputtered, and then it failed. We were now gliding. I tried to keep control, but it was hard. There wasn't anywhere to land. As far as the eye could see there was only dense jungle.   
  
"Harm!!"  
  
It happened so fast. The belly of the plane scraped across the pointed tops of the trees. And then the plane dove into them. First the wings came off. Piece by piece the plane was ripped to shreds. I felt nothing. It felt almost as if I wasn't there. We finally hit a huge trunk and came to a halt. I saw Mac thrown out of the plane and hit the ground with great force. She laid there prostrate before the surrounding trees. I could do nothing, as I was crunched into my seat. And then black nothingness clasped a cold hand around my body and mind.  
  
I woke up to find anguish wracking my body. I could see blood splattered everywhere. My only thought was that somehow I had to get out of the plane. I couldn't see Mac anywhere. I had to find her.  
  
I moved a little and bellowed in pain. A sharp piece of metal from the plane had embedded itself into my leg. A quick examination told me it didn't pierce through to the other side. I took a deep breath and grabbed the piece in two places. Then I tried to quickly pluck the piece out of my flesh. It only ended up searing my leg with a misery I couldn't recall ever suffering before. I cried out in agony. After pausing for a moment, and steeling myself against the impending pain, I attempted to withdraw the metal piece again, but this time with more force, and found a weak point. The piece broke in half. I writhed and screamed.   
  
Eventually, I eased the remaining piece out and grabbed what was left of the shirt from my bag, and bound my leg tightly, to prevent myself losing anymore blood. I glanced around the ground, and still couldn't locate Mac.  
  
You'd think that Mac would've heard me. The fact that my reverberating cries had received no response worried me. I slowly departed from the plane that had imprisoned me and fell to the ground. I laid there for a while, panting. Blood soaked the shirt and my pant leg. Shuddering from the chill in the air, I tried to get back up, but all my paltry attempts were pathetically futile. I'd lost too much blood to move. So, I yelled out for her.  
  
"MAC! MAC! WHERE ARE YOU?!"   
  
The only reply I received is deafening silence. GOD HELP ME P-PLEASE! P-PLEASE---' was the last thing I had drumming through my mind before I felt my body turn impossibly cold, and I succumbed to the dark temptress--oblivion.  
  
End of chapter 6 


	7. Pain

Sick on a journey:   
  
Over parched fields   
  
Dreams wander on.-Basho   
  
When I think of pain - of anxiety that gnaws like fire and loneliness that spreads out like a desert, and the heartbreaking routine of monotonous misery, or again of dull aches that blacken our whole landscape or sudden nauseating pains that knock a man's heart out at one blow, of pains that seem already intolerable and then are suddenly increased, of infuriating scorpion-stinging pains that startle into maniacal movement a man who seemed half dead with his previous tortures-it "quite o'ercrows my spirit." If I knew any way of escape I would crawl through sewers to find it. But what is the good of telling you about my feelings? You know them already: they are the same as yours. I am not arguing that pain is not painful. Pain hurts. That is what the word means. -C.S. Lewis  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Pain  
  
When, at last I escaped oblivion's pen, I had no idea how long I'd been there. Gazing around, I tried to get my bearings. Dawn peeked over the trees, casting the sky in brilliant peach and gold. A hazy fog hugged the ground. The forest was rife with the song of birds, and the air was clean and fresh and contained an early morning chill. I took a deep breath of the bracing air, and slowly eased my aching joints into a seated position.   
  
As I sat there, still gasping in pain, my thoughts swiftly flew to Mac and I remembered her body laying deathly still the last time I laid eyes upon her. But she had disappeared. I had to find her!  
  
My hands seized upon the cold metal of the plane, and I gingerly rose. Standing there for a moment, I leaned my head against its hardness and sucked in large gulps of air. Pain shot through my nerves, fraying the ends into throbbing masses of torment. After several minutes elapsed, I attempted to walk forward. Agony wrenched me fitfully to the ground. Ingesting dust into my lungs, I coughed spasmodically.   
  
After several failed attempts, despair began to overtake me, when suddenly I saw several fallen limbs scattered about the ground. An idea struck me and I began to stretch out my hand toward a rather long, sturdy looking branch. Once my hand finally grasped around its bark roughened surface, I used it to rise unsteadily. Finally, I was able to slowly make my way, crawling like an ape, dragging my necrotic limbs with the stick, through the trees.  
  
It didn't take me long to find her, laying in a motionless heap in the dirt. I could tell that she'd dragged herself to this place. Not sure whether fatigue or death had brought her to lay there, sprawled out on the earth, I reached out a querulous hand and felt for a pulse. Then, kneeling down next to her in astonishment, I laid my head onto her breast and found her heart pumping strongly and her body warm. She seemed to be in better shape than I was.  
  
  
  
Lifting my abject head, I examined her body to find dried blood in several places on her exposed skin. She was also severely bruised. I gently moved her arms and legs, and pressed against her rib cage to assure myself there were no broken bones. Relief poured over my body, and suddenly I felt weak. I looked at my leg and found mud-caked blood all over. I hadn't noticed the bleeding had resumed. I decided to lay down next to her and rest.  
  
Later  
  
I wasn't sure how many hours I'd been asleep. I had dreamt of her. It was the same dream I had, had of her in the past. Us sitting in front of the fireplace, drinking wine, looking at each other. I could hear Mac calling my name. She wanted me to wake up. Nevertheless, I could not force my eyes to open. The fire seemed so real. It was crackling and I felt its warmth flushing my body. She placed something soft under my head.  
  
  
  
Sweat poured out of my fevered skin, but I felt so very cold. I heard a slosh of water and she smoothed a cool, soothing cloth across my brow. Then I felt her rip the leg of my jeans apart to get to the gaping gash in my leg. Excruciating pain seared a rampaging path through my body, and the last thing I saw was a blinding white flash behind my eyelids and then nothing.   
  
Sometime Later  
  
When again I opened my eyes, it was still dark. I couldn't hear anything but the fire and the rustle of something next to me. The air smelt of burning wood and fresh earth. This time I felt enough strength to open my cumbersome lids just a crack. I saw the orange glow of the fire. But, I didn't see Mac. Then I heard the rustle again, and a sniff. I strained my fuzzy, barely ajar eyes to the place next to me. There, staring at something on a sheet of paper, was Mac. I didn't know what it was, but it had moved her. I could make out her tears soaking the blood stained page. She looked at me a few times and back at the page.   
  
Burying her face into the letter and her hands, I could hear her muffled sobs, and saw her small shoulders wracked by her sadness. There were no words to describe the hurt that swelled overpoweringly within me at seeing her like that. But my eyes felt so torpid, and they clamped shut like two heavy doors. I felt her move closer to me. So close, I could feel her breath caress my ear.  
  
"Oh, Harm, I wish you had told me earlier. I can't believe you left everything for me," she said. Her voice quavered, and I felt her wet cheek pressed to mine.   
  
I longed, at that moment, to be able to think clearly, but my head felt like it was stuffed with wool. Nothing seemed real, it all seemed so far away. Perhaps this was just another of my fevered dreams.  
  
End of chapter 7 


	8. Not to Yield

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;  
  
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep  
  
Moans round with many voices.   
  
Come, my friends.  
  
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.  
  
Push off, and sitting well in order smite  
  
The sounding furrows;   
  
For my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset, and the baths  
  
Of all the western stars, until I die.  
  
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;  
  
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,  
  
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.  
  
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'  
  
We are not now that strength which in old days  
  
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--  
  
One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
  
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will  
  
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.-Tennyson 'Ulysses'  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Not To Yield  
  
5 Days Later  
  
The next thing I remembered was waking to the smell of freshly impending rain and the sound of the wind brushing its fingers through the trees. I opened my eyes to see the soft darkness of the wooly clouds swirling above me. The denim jacket that I'd been wearing laid across the upper portion of my body.   
  
Gingerly, I lifted my head enough so I could catch a glimpse of my leg. The pants leg had been cut off up to the wound, which was wrapped in bandages and gauze. Glancing around still further, I saw that Mac was nowhere to be found. The bandages and the ashen remnants of an old fire next to me were the only proof that she'd been there.  
  
I opened my mouth to attempt to call out for Mac, but before I could she materialized before me through the trees. A couple of silvery fish were clutched in her right hand. Upon noting that I was awake, she knelt down silently beside me and caressed a soft hand over my face, checking for fever.  
  
"I'm glad you're finally awake, Harm. I was starting to worry about you," she murmured gently.  
  
I pointed to the fish in her hand.  
  
"Fish?" I raised my eyebrows at her inquiringly. And, for the first time in a very long time, I was treated to one of her smiles.  
  
"If I would've known that we were going to crash, I'd have packed a lunch. Since I didn't, I was forced to search for food. I found a small stream not far from here. It took me three days to find it. I had to use one of my shoelaces and a safety pin from the plane's first-aid kit to catch these."  
  
I returned her smile, proudly. Dust covered her face and hair. A few leaves were stuck in her dark tresses.  
  
"Y-your…fa-ace…" My voice was rough. My throat was achingly raw, as if I was swallowing shards of glass, every time I spoke.  
  
"Is my face that bad?" She began wiping self-consciously at it. "I should go to the stream and wash up before I cook the fish."  
  
And then we heard a deep, overpowering rumble above us.  
  
"It's going to rain soon. I found a small cave near the stream. Do you think you can make it there if I help you?"  
  
I nodded firmly. She stood up and walked over to stoop to the ground and grab the stick that I had initially used as a cane to find her.  
  
"Here, this will help."  
  
She bent down, quickly scrutinized my leg, and then came 'round to help me stand.  
  
"Do you remember how you got that?" she inquired, referring to the wound in my leg.  
  
"Pl-lane…s-stuck…," I said, my words stumbling decrepitly.  
  
"You lost a lot of blood. There was a piece of the metal left in the wound. I had to use a pair of tweezers to dig it out. Good thing you were out cold, since the Mennonite didn't happen to have any morphine in his kit."   
  
As we slowly made our way to the cave, I tried to lean as much as I could on the stick, and strained every muscle in my faltering body. I didn't know how Mac had the strength to support my enormous frame. I felt so impotent. I'd become a encumbering burden to her.  
  
When at last we made it to the cave, which was nothing more than a depression in a small hill, I found that she had cleaned the brush and rocks from its bottom, leaving only velvety earth below our feet. A fire danced inside. My backpack along with the first-aid kit, and a canteen, all sat in one corner. She helped me ease wearily to the ground.   
  
"You need to eat something," she asserted, as she blanketed my denim jacket over me, gazing at me with those dark, mysterious eyes. I nodded. My yawning stomach felt cavernously empty. Even if I didn't have a predilection for fish, which I did, I would've eaten anyway. At that point, I would gladly have eaten roots.  
  
"I'm going to go wash up. Do you need anything before I go?"   
  
"Th-thirsty," I informed her, and she came over with the canteen. My mouth felt as parched as a sandy, sun-scorched desert. I started to drink greedily from the canteen as she touched it to my cracked lips.   
  
After fully slaking my thirst, she assured me she'd be right back. She withdrew through the mouth of the cave, and her form became obscured by the night. As I stared at the burning embers of the fire, meditations weaved through my mind of my feelings for her. Did she feel the same way? Had she become tenaciously bonded to Webb during their imprisonment? The familiar fear of old flew swiftly back to me. What if, after all this, it still somehow didn't work?   
  
However, I knew I had to tell her. We needed to talk about the Webb thing and "us". Once we made it back to the States, I'd have to tell her how I left the Navy. It was all going to have to be addressed, eventually. This time it couldn't be escaped. That is--if we did make it back. But, at that point, I barely had the energy to talk, let alone have such an important conversation.  
  
Mac returned to the cave. Drops of water clung to the bottom of her smooth, dark hair. Her skin was no longer painted with dirt.   
  
"I'll start cooking in a minute. First, we need to look at your wound. I need to clean it out and re-bandage it," she said, as she walked over to the first-aid kit. She drew out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, antibiotic ointment, and bandages, along with stark white gauze. As she unwrapped the bandages, I didn't even want to look at the wound, but I still did.   
  
Part of the wound was jagged. I must have torn through some of the flesh in my attempt to draw out the embedded piece of metal. A large, ugly bruise outlined the open skin. As she began her ministrations upon my leg, the pain rushed back. My forehead puckered, and I visibly paled.  
  
"M-mac…" She flinched when she heard me, and looked me straight in the eyes.  
  
"Harm, are you okay," she questioned, as she started to rise from my leg. "I can get some aspirin…" Her voice was inflicted with worry.  
  
"S-stay." The water had served as a balm for my ragged throat, and my words began to flow a bit easier.  
  
"I won't leave you."  
  
"You…ok-kay?"   
  
She nodded and lowered her voice somberly.  
  
"I'm just worried about everything. I don't know, Harm. This trip is different from our other missions. It seems so much more uncertain. I feel as if, just as we get home into our sights, that it might be snatched away from us. Time just seems--so short. I just want to get us home. I mean, look at you. I know you're in pain. That leg must hurt a great deal. On top of that we're in the middle of nowhere, and no one knows where we are. And what about Gunny and Webb? I wonder if they made it to a hospital in time?"   
  
After she finished cleaning and binding my wound, I extended my hand, and clasped it over hers. We gazed at each other for a long, meaningful moment, and then she got up.  
  
"I really need to cook the fish. You were delirious for two days. Your fever just broke last night. And as far as I know, you haven't eaten for at least that long."  
  
Walking over to the fire she began preparing the fish to be cooked. She used a sharp piece of metal from the plane to clean them. I supposed that her survival training was kicking in. Mine was back home at that point in time.   
  
Later  
  
I could only muster a few bites of the delicious fish, as I hadn't eaten for five days, and my stomach wouldn't allow me to have any more. When we'd finished eating the meal, we decided that to get some much needed sleep. Mac laid next to me and wrapped her comforting arms around me. We pulled the jacket that I had over us and fell asleep to the sound of the drizzling rain.  
  
End of chapter 8 


	9. Darkness There, And Nothing More

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,  
  
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;  
  
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token--  
  
-Edgar Allen Poe  
  
The Raven  
  
Chapter 9  
  
Darkness There, And Nothing More  
  
Four days later   
  
As I opened my eyes, I could feel the warmth of the sun stream through the cave opening and dance on my skin. I'd expected to find Mac laying by my side, however I found that she was standing at the mouth of the cave.   
  
"Going somewhere, Mac?" I queried, as I stretched my sore limbs. My wound felt much better than it did. And because of this, Mac had treated me to walks in the cool of the last two evenings to exercise my leg.  
  
"I'm going to the stream to see if I can catch something this time."  
  
  
  
"I'm coming with you," I asserted instinctively.  
  
"You need to stay here."  
  
I uncharacteristically stultified the protestations that flurried around in my mind, and just nodded.  
  
"Harm, I was thinking, we need to find a way to get home soon. Since I know that we are south of the city, we could use the sun to help us find our way out. We can start on our way early tomorrow morning. What do you think?"   
  
"Sounds good," I agreed.   
  
"Do you need anything, before I go?"  
  
"No, I'm fine."  
  
"Okay. Wish me luck, then."  
  
"Good luck," I grinned. She returned the smile and hurried off into the tranquil beauty of the golden day.  
  
I wasn't sure exactly how long I'd been waiting, as I didn't have Mac's innate precognitive ability for time. It seemed like it had been years. I had heartily agreed with Mac's decision to attempt to catch something for lunch, because last night she had been unsuccessful. We ended up going to sleep hungry. I didn't want to slow her down getting to and returning from the stream. But, right then, my stomach was gluttonously gnawing a hole into itself.   
  
I walked out of the cave and looked around to see if I could find the stream that Mac was fishing from. I found her footprints in the soft earth and I decided to follow them. I wanted to help her if I could. I was tired of being in that cave. Tired of feeling useless, and tired of inaction. It was just not me to sit around like that. Besides, I was never any good at following instructions strictly anyway.  
  
At last, I made my faltering way to the stream. I could hear the melodious trickle of the water before I actually saw it. The sweet smell of nature's fecundity surrounded me. Dense tangles of trees clothed in bright green, laden with exotic flowers, lined the bank. That cool water sounded extremely tempting after such a laborious journey. As I stepped out of the shelter of the trees, and onto the waters edge, I heard Mac splashing about in the water. I opened my mouth to call out to her, but instead of the clever joke I had thought up, an inadvertent note of surprise escaped my lips. There, standing with her naked back facing me, stood Mac. The water came up to the curve of her feminine waist. Her velvety skin was moist with beads of glistening water.   
  
The surprised sound I ejaculated carried quite well over the waters, and startled her. She quickly dipped down into the water to where her head was the only thing left to be seen. As she turned around to scan the bank, I ducked behind a tree.  
  
"Harm?"  
  
I knew better than to reply. That kind of situation did not lead to clear thinking actions. What that woman could do to me! Thank God, she didn't realize the full power she held, or I'd have been finished a long time ago. I attempted to sneak stealthily back to the cave.  
  
"Harm, I know it's you. I thought I told you to stay in the cave!"  
  
I could hear her get out of the water. My pulse quickened and I tried to prod my stiff limb to scurry faster. All I needed was to accidentally spot a fully nude Mac. As much as this realization spurred me on, I still didn't have the full function of my cursed leg. I heard a noise behind me and peered guiltily over my shoulder. Mac stood there with her arms folded, and a mothering look on her lovely face. Damn, busted!  
  
Suddenly, I slipped into the dark, squishy mud. As if she couldn't help herself, Mac chuckled.   
  
"Glad I amuse you."  
  
She stifled her amusement, sauntered over and checked my leg.   
  
"Sorry, I laughed. You okay?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye, and a smirk on her lips.   
  
"My pride is bruised, other than that, I'm fine. Thanks for the concern," I darted back.  
  
After a firm scolding from Mac on our way back to the cave, she settled me in. I had to admit my leg was pounding achingly from my little adventure. She threatened me before leaving to retrieve the fish she had succeeded in catching earlier, before she'd decided on a bath. I sat propped up next to the wall of the cave, absent-mindedly drawing patterns in the dirt. I tried hard not to think about the feelings the vision stoked in me.  
  
Finally, to try to help stave off those memories I secretly relished, I decided to make myself useful and gathered branches for the fire tonight--whistling as I did so. I didn't know why, but I felt quite cheerful. And then, suddenly, I heard Mac's unmistakable voice,  
  
"Har-r--!"  
  
That was followed by the ominous sound of a shot. I froze for a moment, and then dropped the bundle of branches I carried and rushed off toward the direction where the cry came from.  
  
By the time dusk had fallen, and well into the evening, I had searched endlessly, but she was nowhere to be found. My cries rent the night, as I plodded on in my quest. During my struggle to find Mac, thoughts, agonizing questions, had been clamoring around in my head. Had Fahd's men found her? Was she dead? Why would he send men after us when he couldn't be sure how many people were after him? If I were him, I would've made preparations to get my six out of there--gone to a new country, changed my name. Besides, the Stingers were destroyed and he had no idea who else knew about his base of operations. Even with the help of the damnable leak in the CIA. My thoughts scraped over the hardness of those spiky thoughts and diffused to more tortuous thoughts.   
  
Every fruitless mile I searched, fear smacked another stinging lash across my heart. So, by the time I reached the bank of the stream for the second time in my search, it was covered with his blistering welts. And then I saw it.  
  
By the grubby tangles of roots from one of the trees. It glistened darkly, like the stream flowing next to it. A strangled cry gurgled up into my throat. I hurried over, and dipped my finger into the dark liquid. Blood. Oh, God!  
  
Later  
  
I drug my weary body back to the cave, vowing to myself to not to leave that jungle until I found her, at least her body. Sitting down in the dust, I began to gather everything from our shelter together that might be useful to me, when suddenly I heard an eerie clicking sound. Peering up into the night, I saw a man standing there, staring at me with his dark, implacable eyes gleaming under thick tufts of eyebrows. His swarthy frame blocked the front of the cave. But, he was holding something. Lowering my eyes, I saw the honey-colored moonlight gleam ominously off of the hard black skin of the gun he wielded.   
  
End of chapter 9 


	10. Valediction

Our two souls therefore, which are one,   
  
Though I must go, endure not yet   
  
A breach, but an expansion,   
  
Like gold to aery thinness beat.   
  
If they be two, they are two so   
  
As stiff twin compasses are two;   
  
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show   
  
To move, but doth, if th' other do.   
  
And though it in the centre sit,   
  
Yet when the other far doth roam,   
  
It leans and hearkens after it,   
  
And grows erect, as that comes home.   
  
Such wilt thou be to me, who must   
  
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;   
  
Thy firmness makes my circle just,   
  
And makes me end where I begun.  
  
-John Donne 'A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning'  
  
Chapter 10  
  
Valediction  
  
I stared up at the dark, unshaven man, wondering if this same man had anything to do with Mac's disappearance. He scrutinized my leg and then slowly lowered the gun.   
  
"You Harm?" The dark man spoke with a thick accent, his voice roughened by age.  
  
"Do I know you?"   
  
We both eyed each other warily for a moment.  
  
"The name is Jose. Your woman friend asked me to come back and help you. What was her name…?" He gazed at me expectantly. For a moment, I felt surprise and hope plunge through me, but then a morbid uncertainty quickly suppressed the two and I inquired,  
  
"Is Mac okay?"  
  
He grinned broadly, baring a row of surprisingly white teeth.  
  
"That was her name. Yes, she's alive. The thing is my partner thought she was an animal and shot her in the leg. He took her to a hospital in Ciudad del Este."  
  
"That's how you found me."  
  
"You close?"  
  
"She's…my partner, and my closest friend."  
  
Jose watched the expressions flicker across my face and then snorted.  
  
"Friend, huh? She insisted that one of us go back and find you. So, here I am. Now, we need to get you to the hospital before your leg gets any worse."  
  
As I started to rise gingerly from my seated position, my muscles screamed at me thunderously. I stifled the cries of pain, but somehow, he knew and he came over and helped me to his awaiting truck.  
  
It was a long drive to the city. Jose and I really didn't talk much. I was lost in my own world and in my own pain. I think he saw it in my face and decided not to say much. My thoughts dodged back and forth between Webb and Gunny and Mac. I couldn't help thinking as we drew closer to the city, that I was about to find out the fate of a good friend.  
  
Later  
  
"Well, here we are," Jose informed me unnecessarily.  
  
I got out of the truck and someone from the hospital came to help me. They placed me in a wheelchair and took me inside. In my bemused state, I was really not paying much attention to what was happening around me.   
  
After I made it to an examination room, and sat there shifting uncomfortably for a time in one of those flimsy gowns they give you, someone entered the room. I looked up expecting the doctor and found myself looking at Gunny.  
  
"Gunny, you made it," I said trying to get up. I quickly sat back down when I felt a chilly blast of air on my exposed six.   
  
"Yeah, I'm alright. I see that Mac was right about your leg," remarked Gunny.  
  
"Where is she, Gunny? How is she?"  
  
"She's fine. Her gunshot wound was not that bad. She is at VOQ at the moment. She'll want to know you've made it back."  
  
"And Webb?"  
  
Before Gunny could reply, the doctor entered, and Gunny left the room.  
  
After a routine examination, and a couple of tests, the doctor told me that a slight infection had set in. He gave me antibiotics for it and some pain killers. Then he informed me that I was free to go, with the proviso that I came back for a check-up in a few days. And then, Gunny and I made our way to visit Webb.  
  
"How bad is it, Gunny?" Once again, asking the question I was afraid I know the answer to.  
  
"To tell you the truth, sir, the doctors don't think he'll make it, but they have him stabilized, and they told us that they've seen people come out of worse situations. I don't know what all they did to him, but they messed him up bad, sir. Mac wanted to stay by his side when she saw him earlier, but the doctors said that she needed to get some rest. So, I took her back to VOQ. She asked me to call her when they found you. I did so, but she wants an update on how you are."   
  
I nodded and our paths diverged at Webb's room. As Gunny made his way down the quiet hall, I hesitated for a moment at the door, steeling myself before entering. When I got inside, I just stood there for a moment, taking it all in.   
  
I barely recognized the frail, bruised man in the bed. He looked too small to be the man I'd known for so many years. The man that always had a way of making you take notice that he was in the room. The man who always had a witty reply. He could be annoying at times, but I wouldn't trade having such a friend. A friend I deeply respected. He always came through.  
  
I walked over to him and seated myself in the chair next to him. His head was turned toward the window. I wasn't sure if he was awake, until he turned his head to me after a long moment. I didn't know what to say to him at first. What does a man say to a dying friend? There's never an easy answer to that question. Sitting that close to him didn't make it any easier. His hair looked brittle and dull. His cheeks were sallow and slightly sunken in. Tubes seemed to be everywhere, sticking out from his body. He drew in a weak breath, and I noted the haggard expression on his face.  
  
"You look like hell, Rabb," he joked in a low whisper.   
  
"I could say the same for you, Webb."   
  
"Yeah, but you should see the other guy." I saw a familiar sparkle twinkle faintly in the depths of his eyes.  
  
"So, what are you planning to do when they release you?"  
  
"Harm, we both know I don't have much time left." I could hear the pain in his voice, quiet though it was.  
  
"Don't talk like that, Webb. You're not a quitter."   
  
"I never said I was. But, I think it's my time. A man doesn't stay lucky forever. Especially, one in my line of work."  
  
He paused for a moment to rest his voice, and then continued,  
  
"I want you to promise me something, Rabb. If you can get it through that thick skull of yours. It's about Sarah."  
  
"Webb…"  
  
"I know you're in love with her. Hell, the whole world knows. It's not like you can hide it. Trust me, I know how you feel…"  
  
He drifted off again for a moment and I looked up at the EKG machine and saw that his heart rate was slowing, his face marked by incipient fatigue. When he began to speak again, I detected a tone of remorse mixed with determination.  
  
"But, I know that she doesn't feel the same way for me. She only kissed me back there because she knew that I might not make it."   
  
His words were laborious and strained. I had no wish to drain the last bits of life out of him by making him argue with me.  
  
"Webb, we can talk about this later. You…"  
  
Webb extended his hand and grabbed my arm with a surprising ferocity, for a man in his condition.   
  
"See, that's always been your problem, Rabb. It's always later with you. Someday you're going to be lying somewhere like me and realize that all of your 'later's' are gone."  
  
His eyes fluttered, and it took him some time to refocus on my face.  
  
"Promise me that you'll tell her that you love her and--you be good to her."   
  
I promised him that I would do as he asked, and he relaxed. I sat next to him for a moment until finally his wearied body drooped and he closed his exhausted eyes, falling into a deep sleep.  
  
Gunny walked in and peered at Webb. I rose and we silently left the room. In the hallway Gunny informed me,   
  
"She wants to see you."  
  
"Thanks, Gunny."  
  
" I also called the Admiral and updated him on our conditions."  
  
Later at the VOQ  
  
"Damn it, Harm, what took you so long?" she chastised, as I wrapped my arms around her. I held her small form close to mine, while she clung back to me tightly, and said nothing. After a time, we broke apart and she gazed into my eyes searchingly until I finally answered her question.  
  
"Sorry, about that, Mac."   
  
"Harm, what's wrong."  
  
"It's Webb, Mac. I'm sorry to have tell you this, but he--" Already crying, she covered my mouth.  
  
"He's not going to make it, is he, Harm?" Her voice cracked on my name.  
  
"It doesn't look good, right now, Mac."  
  
I cupped her delicate face and used the roughened ridges of my thumb to wipe away a stray tear from her damp pink skin.   
  
"Come on, let's sit down."   
  
We walked over to her bed and I sat myself on its edge. She sat down next to me and buried her head into my shoulder. I brushed my hand over the soft strands of her auburn hair.  
  
"Don't cry, Sarah."  
  
We sat there and I let her cry against me for awhile.   
  
End of chapter 10 


	11. Loved I Not Honor More

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind  
  
That from the nunnery  
  
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,  
  
To war and arms I fly.  
  
True, a new mistress now I chase,  
  
The first foe in the field;  
  
And with a stronger faith embrace   
  
A sword, a horse, a shield.  
  
Yet this inconstancy is such  
  
As you too shall adore;  
  
I could not love thee, dear, so much,  
  
Loved I not honor more.  
  
-Richard Lovelace  
  
To Lucasta, On Going to the Wars  
  
Chapter 11  
  
Loved I Not Honor More  
  
A few days later  
  
The sun burned down hotly on my head as I spoke with Deputy Director Harrison Kershaw, at a local payphone in Ciudad del Este. Gunny stood beside me, glancing around at the locals that occasionally passed us by.  
  
"It's all arranged. You're to meet Ortega's men in front of La Casa De Amor. It's a bar on the outskirts of town. They'll take you to the rendezvous point to meet with Ortega. He'll question you. If he decides he can trust you, you've got the job."  
  
"What job would that be, Sir?"  
  
"Word on the street is that he's looking for a disgruntled US Navy employee willing to sell out. That's you, Petty Officer John Harris. You'll find out the details of what he has planned, if you make it through the interview process. You are to stand in front of the bar and wait there. You're also to come alone and unarmed or they will kill you, and anyone with you. That's all we were told."  
  
"Anything else I need to know?"  
  
"Yeah, just so you have an idea of who you're dealing with here, we've already lost three good agents trying to get Ortega."  
  
"Thanks for the warning," I muttered wryly.  
  
I hung up and peered at Gunny determinedly.  
  
"It's all set."  
  
After Gunny and I had arrived at the hospital, Mac informed us that Webb's condition had improved, giving her hope that he might make it through. Then, I informed her of the mission I'd been assigned.   
  
After a rather heated exchange, Gunny, Mac and I stood inside Webb's room. A stony silence hung between us. Gunny shifted uncomfortably. The only sound in the room came from the machines giving out dripping measures of a narcotizing drug to the soporific Webb, pumping oxygen and keeping track of his heartbeat. Finally, Gunny cleared his throat, prompting Mac, who was staring me straight in the eyes reproachfully, to speak.  
  
"Have you already forgotten the hell we went through because of the last CIA mission?"   
  
"It's my job, Mac. It's also one of the reasons I was allowed to come down here."  
  
"What time do you have to be there?" she questioned begrudgingly.  
  
"Tonight at midnight."  
  
"Why so late?"   
  
"I didn't ask."  
  
"How are you going to protect yourself without any backup?" Mac demanded.  
  
"We'll be his backup," Gunny interjected dispassionately.  
  
Mac's gaze turned from me to Gunny.  
  
"He'll be wearing a mic with a transmitter, so we can keep tabs on him," he apprised her.  
  
"They'll pat him down."  
  
"It'll be under his watch band. They'll never see it."  
  
She swiveled back and looked up at me.  
  
"Harm, I could help you."   
  
"Marines, always have to be in the middle of the action."  
  
"Damn right, Harm! Now, let me go with you. I can hide in the back."  
  
I shook my head firmly.  
  
"Might compromise the mission."  
  
"Harm, you…"  
  
"Sorry, Mac. I have to do this alone. Besides, you'll be joining me if anything goes wrong," I said, trying to brush her fears away.  
  
"I don't think you should go in there alone," Mac uttered dissuasively.   
  
I had to give her one thing, she certainly was a staunchly obstinate woman.  
  
"I'll be fine, mom," I stated exasperatedly.  
  
"Webb's already told me that a friend of his died going after Ortega. Webb and I were almost killed, Gunny barely escaped alive--and only then because Webb and I went after him, all for these damn CIA missions. Besides, you have a knack for getting yourself into scrapes, and you know it, Harm," Mac rejoindered.  
  
"Well, you know, Mac, I wouldn't be here if you had stayed out of trouble in the first place."  
  
"What exactly are you trying to say, Harm?" she inquired indignantly, placing a hand on her hip.  
  
"Could you two please stop? You're going to disturb Webb," requested Gunny.  
  
"Sorry, Gunny," Mac and I grunted, our gazes still locked heatedly.  
  
Mac turned and headed out of the room, tossing over her shoulder that she was thirsty, leaving Gunny and I there to discuss the details of the mission.  
  
End of chapter 11 


	12. Death, Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee  
  
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;  
  
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow  
  
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.  
  
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,  
  
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow;  
  
And soonest our best men with thee do go-  
  
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!  
  
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,  
  
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;  
  
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well  
  
And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?  
  
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,  
  
And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die.  
  
-John Donne   
  
Chapter 12  
  
Death, Be Not Proud  
  
Later, that evening, Mac and I silently treaded the hospital sidewalks, until we reached the car I rented for my trip. We hadn't said much to each other since our quarrel.  
  
As I leaned against the car, Mac just stood there somberly with her arms crossed. I glanced up and saw that it was a pretty clear night. Stars dotted the sky, and the moon was full, encircled by a ghostly halo. I drew a breath of the night air, trying to think of something to say to break the awkward silence. Typically, Mac beat me to the punch.  
  
"Harm, please be careful. I already have one friend in there fighting for his life. I don't want to lose another one. Especially, my…best friend," she said, sincerity reverberating from her entire being.  
  
"I'll be fine, Mac. Just watch, I'll be back before you know it."   
  
These were the last words we got a chance to speak to each other before Gunny came up to us.   
  
"It's time, sir."  
  
I nodded, and then Mac and I quickly hugged each other.  
  
Jumping into the car, I started the engine. I gave one last wave to Mac and Gunny, trying to exude the confidence I didn't feel in this mission, and then I headed off into the night.  
  
Later  
  
Pulling up to a dilapidated, and very sleazy, bar, I glanced at my watch. I was ten minutes early, so I sat there in the car and waited. There were few cars in the cramped lot. Searching uneasily through the inky obscurity all around me, I saw no signs of life. While waiting for Ortega's men, I thought back to the information contained in the packet handed to me by a silent man in the hotel elevator. When I reached my room and opened it, I found my I.D., my history as P.O. Harris, and some background information on Ortega. Ortega was a high class drug dealer, who also dabbled in arms dealing and had a penchant for killing Americans. The CIA had been trying to rid themselves of the scourge of Ortega for sometime now, but had failed.  
  
Eight minutes later I mumbled under my breath,  
  
"Gunny?"  
  
"I got you, sir," came the muffled response.  
  
I then opened the car door and stepped out onto the dirt, making my way slowly to the front of the bar. Minutes later, two large Hispanic men materialized before me through the blackness.  
  
"Harris?"  
  
I nodded.   
  
"Follow us."  
  
They escorted me about a mile, where a car was waiting by the side of the road, its headlights shed the only light on the remote expanse of land.   
  
"Into the car."  
  
"Where are you taking me?"  
  
The larger of the two men opened the passenger side door and extracted a dark piece of cloth.  
  
"You have to wear this."  
  
"What, you don't trust me?"  
  
The gruff man snorted and then, with the piece of cloth grasped between his thick fingers, he went behind me and placed the blindfold tightly over my eyes. One of the men got in beside me. As I felt the car start moving, the men began speaking together in Spanish. I heard nothing from Gunny. I hoped he was getting it all.   
  
Sometime later, I heard the welcome whisper of Gunny's voice in my ear.  
  
"Parana River. They're taking you to a place near the Parana River. I'll…"   
  
The car came to a sudden halt, and I didn't get anymore of what he was trying to tell me, because I was grabbed by someone. I heard a dull smack and realized that it came from my head hitting the frame of the door as the man tugging on me tried to jerk me from the car. He pushed me forward, after his first failed attempt, and then tried again. As he jarred my head against the frame once more, I felt a sickeningly familiar ache burn through my body and then nothing.  
  
When I came to, my head felt as if someone was thumping on it from the inside. I sensed grass below me. Quiet murmurs in a language foreign to me, mingled with the sound of rushing water, greeted my ears. Then, I remembered where I must be and what I must attempt. My blindfold was gone, so I opened my eyes, only to quickly clamp them shut and wince. After a moment, I very slowly reopened them and tried to move myself into a sitting position. As I did so, I heard,  
  
"Esta despierto."  
  
Though finally in a seated position, my eyes were still downcast, and I was clutching my pounding head, when I saw a pair of dark, glossy shoes before me.   
  
"Where am I?" I inquired, uneager to attempt to raise my head.  
  
"You're at the meeting place, Mr. Harris," I heard an educated voice, with a barely detectable trace of an accent, inform me.  
  
Mustering the strength to lift my head, I gathered in the sight of a man who appeared to be in his forties. His hair was graying, along with his well-manicured moustache. He had on an expensive double-breasted suit.   
  
"Ortega."  
  
"Your interview is about to begin, Mr. Harris. I hope you're prepared."  
  
Glancing around to get a better picture of what I was up against, I found that we were in a clearing, surrounded by trees. It was still dark. Along the ridge of the trees were the three men I traveled here with, all bearing guns. Two of them were chatting. The other one stood puffing thoughtfully on a cigarette.  
  
Ortega began to pace slowly in front of me, while asking questions. From what I figured out from his inquisition, and the subtle questions I managed to slip in without appearing to be digging, I understood that he wanted some information about a new weapons system we were developing, that had several countries drooling. It was being tested on the USS Eisenhower, the ship that I was, as P.O. Harris, stationed on. If he could get specifics on it, he'd have a couple of countries lined up willing to purchase the information. It would be a double bonus for him. He'd hurt America and make a tidy profit. Ortega tried to trip me up several times, but failed.   
  
Then, I heard the sound of a car pulling up and a door opening nearby. I glanced over to Ortega to gauge his reaction. He wore an expectant look and addressed me,  
  
"You've passed so far, Mr. Harris. But, you still have one more test to pass before I can give you the job. I call it my little insurance program."  
  
I heard someone step up behind me and twisted around to see who the newcomer was.  
  
"Commander Rabb," Hardy stated, with a small amount of surprise in his tone.  
  
"Station chief Hardy."  
  
"Actually, you don't work for the Navy anymore, do you? You work for the CIA, now. Did Kershaw send you here?" he questioned, mockingly. Ortega gazed at me wrathfully.  
  
"CIA, huh? I don't like to be lied to , Mr.--"  
  
"Rabb," Hardy filled in. I felt disgusted rage surge through me.  
  
"How does it feel, Hardy, selling out your country for a few measly bucks?"  
  
"Spare me," he muttered, wearing a disingenuous smile. He turned to Ortega. "This man is a waste of time," Hardy sonorously intoned.  
  
Ortega pulled out a gun and pointed it at my head. I glared at Hardy and angrily seethed,  
  
"I don't know how you sleep at night. You're not worth the flesh wasted on you!"  
  
Ortega was about to shoot, when Hardy stopped him.  
  
"Let me." He grabbed the gun from Ortega.  
  
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of Ortega's men drop to the ground. The two men jerked their heads around to the fallen man. Gunny popped out from the trees and began struggling with one of the two guards who'd been chatting earlier. Mac followed Gunny into the clearing, shooting the other man who aimed his gun at her, in the shoulder. He dropped his gun and grasped his wound.   
  
I wasn't sure which man I wanted to hit more. I chose Hardy, since he had the gun, punching him as hard as I could in the stomach. When Hardy doubled over, Ortega swung at me and a battle ensued. As I was trying to knock Ortega out, Hardy aimed his gun again at our struggling forms. Then, suddenly, Mac was there, with her gun in hand.   
  
"Drop it," she uttered, a determined coolness tingeing her voice.  
  
A brief look of surprise etched itself into Hardy's debauched features.   
  
"I thought you were dead."  
  
"Go to hell, Hardy!"   
  
"After you," Hardy snarled.  
  
That was all I could make out as Ortega landed a timely blow into my jaw. Grunting in pain, I grabbed him by his shirt and banged his head against the trunk of a tree. Following that, I realized that Mac had fallen to the ground about a foot away from me. Hardy had the gun trained on her.  
  
"Hardy!" I yelled desperately, trying to call his attention away from Mac. I crawled over to Mac, and covered her body with mine. My body was rigidly tense, waiting to feel the bullets tear through my skin. A grinding horror gnawed at me like I'd never known. This was it. It was finally the end. After all the times we'd cheated death. Webb's warning from two days ago came jarringly home. Our luck had to run out sometime.  
  
"Edward!" A familiar voice resounded clearly, contemptuously, through the cold night air.  
  
I peered at Hardy. His face registered with a look I'd seen before only in combat: mortal dread. My gaze followed his, and my eyes widened incredulously as I saw Webb approaching. He looked infinitely worse than he did before. Deathly pale, dripping with sweat, his hair plastered to his head. His step was unsteady, and he panted raggedly.  
  
"You killed M-mcIntosh, Blaine…and J-Ja-ameson, you lying b-bastard!"  
  
And, then, wearing the haggard look of a man who knew he was about to die, he raised his pistol and I heard the fulminating bark of the two guns. Both men slipped slowly to the ground. I rose carefully, keeping an eye on Hardy, who pointed the gun at Webb again and shot him one last time before his hand loosened on the gun, and he moved no more.  
  
I made my way to Gunny as Mac hurriedly knelt at Webb's side. Gunny had been shot, and he was unconscious, but he still had a pulse. I walked over to stand next to Mac and Webb.   
  
"We need to get him to a hospital," I stated quietly.  
  
Webb sputtered, and blood pooled from his body, seeping into the earth below. Mac was crying inconsolably.   
  
"How did he know?"  
  
"H-he…he must have heard Gunny tell me where they were taking you. I thought he was asleep."  
  
She paused a moment, and then a sobbing sound sprang from her lips, as she smoothed a hand over Webb's face.   
  
"He could've made it, Harm," Mac uttered, her lips trembling.  
  
I knelt down and clasped her small hand in mine. Webb looked at me, a vacant expression in his eyes.   
  
"Don't forget, Rabb," he declared weakly, before his body went limp.  
  
End of chapter 12 


	13. The Child of Poverty

Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment when at last you meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and uncertain even in the best) of that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for? You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it-tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest-if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself-you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say, "Here at last is the thing I was made for." It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want…-C.S. Lewis  
  
Human love is the child of poverty.-Plato  
  
Chapter 13  
  
The Child Of Poverty  
  
A few days later  
  
Gunny had mended nicely and insisted, in spite of his injuries, on returning to his duties. He would remain there for another few months. As for Mac, she was scheduled to go home via Navy transport that day. My own flight, courtesy of the CIA's dime, was scheduled for later that day, as well. I mustered up what strength I could after the activities of the past couple of weeks, and made my way to Mac's room. Upon reaching the door, I tapped lightly.  
  
"Mac, have you got a minute?" I asked. I barely made out a tired voice from the other side reply,  
  
"Yeah."   
  
As I opened her door, and entered the room, I saw her sitting on her bed. She was placing something in her tightly packed bag.   
  
"Almost done packing?" I questioned, as I walked over to her.   
  
"Finishing up now." She zipped up her bag and stood looking at the floor. When I touched her arm, she glanced up at me. "I'm glad we're finally going home," she quietly stated. She paused for a moment, and then opened her mouth to say something more, but this time, I beat her to the punch,  
  
"Mac, I need to talk to you about something."  
  
"I'm sorry, Harm," uttered Mac, her tone genuinely apologetic, "I can't right now. My transport should be here any time."  
  
"This is important, Mac. It can't wait."  
  
Mac turned away from me and walked over to her bag.  
  
"Mac?" At this point, I was praying that she was not going to shut me down, like before she left.   
  
"I know," she whispered. She pulled out a sheet of paper from a side compartment in her bag, and handed it to me. "I think this belongs to you."  
  
As I opened it, I noticed from the many creases in the tattered paper, that it had been folded and unfolded many times. The paper seemed to be stained with dark brown patches of what appeared to be blood and dirt. My eyes descended upon the first couple of smudged lines when the realization came crashing down on me that this was the letter I had never finished--the one from the plane.   
  
"It fell out of your pocket in the woods. I found it lying next to you."  
  
I was at a loss for words.   
  
Just then, I heard a knock at the door. After one last look at me, she crossed the room to the door, and opened it. An enlisted Marine stood there.  
  
"Ma'am, your transport is here."  
  
"Thank you, Lance Corporal."  
  
Gunny came to the doorway as the lance corporal left, and entered the room. As he did so, Mac went to the bed and grabbed her bag. Gunny walked up to stand before me, and Mac, who was standing at my side. He extended his hand to me.  
  
"Nice working with you again, Sir." I grabbed his hand firmly and shook it, slapping him on the back fondly. He turned to Mac and shook her hand. "Ma'am."  
  
"You too, Gunny," she replied, with a smile.  
  
As they turned to leave, Mac turned her back to Gunny, facing me, and extended her hand. I grasped it, and we shook hands as she said to me, "See you back in the States, Harm." And then, she whispered, "You don't look old or tired to me, Sailor," My eyes widened as I realized she was repeating a rephrased line from my letter. She quirked her brow and grinned at me over her shoulder as she made her way out the door.  
  
"Sir," Gunny respectfully nodded as he exited, following Mac. I walked out into the hallway, and stood there watching her as she disappeared around a corner to catch her transport.  
  
Some time later  
  
I'd been dreading this day. Yesterday Webb's body arrived from Paraguay for its internment. The arrival quite literally brought home the solemn fact that he was gone for good. I got into my door, threw my keys onto the counter and took off the jacket to my black suit. Trudging over to the couch, I plopped down heavily and kicked off my shoes. It had been a long day. One of those that leaves you impossibly tired, dejected, and questioning why life is what it is.   
  
I had received exactly one day of rest after returning home. The days I had left on the books had dissipated quickly during my journey to rescue Mac; ending by the day before I was to return home. It was final. After 18 years, I was no longer in the Navy.   
  
On my second day back, the CIA contacted me and informed me that I needed to begin training ASAP. And, so, dreading the hell I had let myself in for, I went. I've been training for over a week now.   
  
During that time, I tried my best to find out what happened to Sadik. And finally, through a frustrating round of questions to many, I got it out of my direct superior. He was a man who appeared deceptively unassuming, by the name of Miller; medium build and coloring, no features that stood out from the ordinary guy on the street. But, from what I understood, he was on the fast track to promotion.   
  
Sadik had escaped the blast that took out his men, and had relocated. His whereabouts had been discovered and another agent, well-suited for Sadik's new location and new circumstances, had been sent to handle him. That was all he would divulge.  
  
I stared into the room as my thoughts wandered morosely. It was almost completely dark now. I hadn't turned on any lights when I entered, preferring the quiet solitude of the evening. I began thinking again about how much I missed JAG. The day-to-day bustle of my comrades in arms, the cases, the court-battles, and most of all, the comfortable familiarity of old friends. And then there was Mac. Things have just seemed sort of strange. Life has become a perfunctory mass of duties without her. I got to see her for the first time today, at Webb's funeral.   
  
Earlier that day  
  
I had picked Mac up at her house. Dressed in black, she barely had any make up on. An oppressive sadness hung heavily over us.   
  
"Are you ready to go?" I asked her. She nodded and followed me out of her door, locking it behind us.   
  
When we arrived at the church the Admiral was there, as well as Bud, Harriet and a few others from JAG that had known Webb. I sat next to Sturgis, and Mac sat between Harriet and I. I didn't know what to say to her, so I placed a hand over hers and squeezed it reassuringly.   
  
Webb's mom had asked me earlier if I would mind saying a few words at the funeral, since I knew Webb better than most of his associates. I couldn't deny her request.   
  
"Clayton was…what can I say, he had a way of doing things that was out there."  
  
There were a few fond chuckles through tears at this.  
  
"No matter how he may have couched his profession, Clayton Webb, was a spy. Such an occupation typically brings to mind persons of suspicious character and reckless endangerment of others. This was only partially true of Clayton Webb. Yes, he put those of us who assisted him in danger countless times, but he also worked to ensure that we returned from his operations." I paused for a moment, groping for words. "He also had a selfless streak of generosity, as evidenced by his work in bringing my brother here, safe from a POW camp, and providing information when he really didn't have to. As his friend, I will miss his presence. May God see fit to take him into His embrace."   
  
Upon finishing, I went back to my seat and saw that Mac's eyes were red and swollen from crying. As hard as it was going to the funeral of a friend, it was almost beyond endurance having Mac next to me, watching her heart slowly crumble like a dry piece of clay-unable to do anything to stop it from doing so…  
  
After the funeral, many groups of people sat in private little clusters, reminiscing in quiet voices. Tears streaked many of the faces there. I saw Mac approaching after giving her condolences to Webb's mother. Her face was solemn and I could see the strain of the day in her face. I opened my arms and she accepted my embrace, burying her face in my shoulder as she had done in the past.   
  
"You gonna be alright?" I asked as I held her to me.   
  
I heard a muffled sniff and she lifted her head only slightly to assure me that she would be fine, eventually.   
  
My phone rang, drawing me back to the present, and I just sat there. I didn't really feel like chatting with anyone. My answering machine picked it up.  
  
"Harm, it's Mac. I've been thinking about things and…"  
  
Anyone except her. I bolted up from the couch and hit the coffee table with my shin.  
  
"Damn it!" I muttered exasperatedly.  
  
"I drove by your apartment a little while ago, but your lights were off. I guess you haven't made it home, yet…So, …"  
  
I grabbed the phone, fumbling with it.   
  
"Mac!"  
  
Just as I ushered her name out into the phone, I heard the dial tone. Slamming the phone down, I cursed myself for not answering in time. I stood there for a moment wondering whether I should attempt to call her back. We really did need to talk about things, but not over an impersonal phone line. On the other hand, I was going to be so busy the next week, I didn't know when we'd have time to do so. So, I thought maybe I should invite her to lunch. I picked up the phone and dialed.   
  
As it turned out I'd had an overwhelming amount of training to do that week, and I didn't get home until midnight many times. When I did get home, I often found that Mac had called. I made several attempts to call her back, but we always missed each other. And so, we had a rather limited, and frustrating conversation over answering machines for a while.   
  
Finally, I got a day off and decided to ask her to lunch. I went to JAG HQ and had a nice chat with Bud, Harriet, Tiner, Sturgis, and several other good friends, while waiting for Mac to get out of session. Unfortunately, it took longer than I had expected, and I had another pressing appointment that day. Determined not to let this opportunity pass me by, I went into her office and scribbled out a little note asking her to have lunch the next day. Then, I left, bidding a few fond farewells and promising faithfully to try to make it to the next JAG get-together. I hated to leave.  
  
So, the next day, I found myself sitting in a corner booth of a local restaurant, a favorite of ours, near JAG Headquarters waiting for Mac. I still had no idea whether or not she'd be able to make it. She'd called and left a message on my machine last night, telling me she would try her best, but that things were a little swamped at JAG. All I could do was wait. I looked at my watch and then back up to see a familiar smile, and those marine greens I had grown so used to seeing over the years. I stood up and walked over to her.  
  
"Nice seeing you, Mac," I stated, with a wide grin, as I guided her to the table with my hand at the small of her back.  
  
"Yes, it is, Harm."  
  
It was nice hearing her voice say my name again. I hadn't been aware of how much I had missed something so simple. I concluded that I had become secretly dependent on Mac without realizing it. How amazing that someone like me, who's made a career out of appearing invincible, could need another person so much.  
  
As we took our seats and picked up our menus, we began chatting.  
  
"For a minute there, I was afraid you weren't going to be able to make it."  
  
"How could I pass up lunch with my best friend?" she questioned, cheerfully. The waiter came and took our orders.  
  
"Sorry, that things have been so hectic, lately. Would you believe I have to leave for Spain tomorrow, for an investigation?"   
  
"Well, that's life in the military for you," I stated lightly.  
  
Mac glanced at me for a moment and then questioned perceptively, "You miss it, don't you, Harm?"  
  
I nodded, uncertain how exactly to elaborate on those feelings, not really wanting to, there in that restaurant.  
  
"Harm, about the letter…I- I've been wanting to thank you for what you sacrificed for us--for saving us from that hell hole. Even now, I can barely wrap my mind around the enormity of what you did. Saying thank you seems--so inadequate. Did you even think about what would happen when you got back, or about the fact that you might not have found us?"   
  
"I was focused on finding you. It never crossed my mind that I wouldn't."  
  
"That's very typical of you, Harm. Loyalty's not a mere sentiment with you, and once you set your heart on something, you focus everything you have on it. This time at the expense of your career, of never flying a Tomcat again, of even your life. Those terrorists were playing for keeps. And now, you're working for the CIA. It hardly seems possible."  
  
"It was the only way I was able to find out where you were. I had no choice."   
  
"I owe you my life, Harm. That's a feeling of gratitude different than anything else."  
  
"Mac, you've risked your life for me several times."  
  
"As you have for me. But, this--this is different. You've risked your life for causes you've believed in before, for people you've cared about. This was a lose-lose situation: you could've died and if you didn't you still had to come home and face--this."  
  
My heart racing from the rivalry of emotions that were being pulled dangerously close to the surface--emotions that I was unsure how exactly to reveal at this point, I mumbled a response and changed the subject to lighter topics.   
  
The rest of our lunch together passed by too quickly, in a swift hour of banter that can only pass between two old, and very close friends.  
  
Four months later  
  
It wasn't easy, but we tried to stay in touch with each other. Mac had been in Spain for about two weeks working on her case. We were able to talk exactly one time during that period. When she got back we struggled to make more of an effort to see each other, and actually succeeded several times. Over these shared interludes, I found the last of my barriers decaying, and the acceptance of my true feelings for her increasing.  
  
My next mission would be in about a month. I came to the conclusion that it was time to fulfill my promise to Webb. So, I called Mac and we agreed to meet up two nights from now.  
  
Later  
  
I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to straighten my damn tie, for the tenth time. My fingers trembled, my palms were sweaty, my stomach was churning. I was filled with a nervous energy that I didn't know how to expend. It felt like my first date, except infinitely more important. I finally gave up and went to the living room to pick up the roses that I had bought for her. We had a lot to talk about. Before I left, I gave one final glance around the apartment to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything, and then turned out the lights.  
  
Later  
  
On my way down the hall to her door, I thought back about how she had agreed to go out tonight. I'd told her to be ready by eight, and not to eat dinner. She wanted to know where we were going, but I refused to divulge that information, telling her I'd call her in the morning if plans were to change, and to wear something nice.   
  
Finally, making it to her door, I rapped on it firmly.  
  
"Who is it?"   
  
"It's Harm."   
  
"Be right there," she replied. As she opened her door and stood before me, I saw that she was wearing a long, simple black dress. "You're early. I'm not quite done yet." She turned around after opening the door and I saw it had a low back, revealing a glimpse of the tawny skin beneath. Needless to say, I was enjoying the view.  
  
She finished putting on a small diamond ear ring. I presented the roses to her, and she looked at them in surprise, for a moment. Grasping them carefully, she placed the velvety red buds to her nose, and inhaled their fragrant scent.  
  
"Thanks, Harm," she stated gratefully. She smiled prettily at me, sending a quick surge through my body.   
  
We didn't say much on our way there. But, the silence between us was a comfortable one. When we made it to the deserted beach, I walked over to her side of the car and helped her out. Looking around she stated,  
  
"I'm way over-dressed for this, Harm."  
  
"You're breathtaking," I whispered under my breath, as I went to the back of my car to retrieve the blanket and basket I had brought along for this evening. I laid out the blanket I had carried, when we got to the spot I had in mind. Mac had carried her heels, and walked barefoot in the sand.   
  
"I thought this would be the perfect spot to talk," I said, as I started smoothing out the blanket.  
  
"Yeah, no one around to disturb us," she smiled.   
  
After we'd finished eating, while catching up on the latest news at JAG, we sat there quietly for a bit, and looked up at the sea of stars that seemed so close you could almost reach up and dip your hand into them.   
  
"Are you ready to talk about it?" I questioned. She nodded.  
  
"I'm sorry that I made you worry about me, Harm," she declared.   
  
"You're fine now-- that's all that matters," I assured her. "I know we have things to work on, especially me." I shook my head. "All the things that I held as true…"  
  
"Like what, Harm?"  
  
"Like relationships with people you work with. I'm so sorry that it took all of this to tell you how much you mean to me," I uttered despairingly.  
  
"Harm, it's not all your fault. I shouldn't have left the way I did the night before I went on the mission with Webb. I've pushed you away, too."   
  
"I remember when you first came into my life. I knew you were something special, but, I also firmly believed that if we got into a relationship, it had a strong chance to ruin our friendship. I've seen it happen so many times, Mac. I didn't want that to happen with us."  
  
"Fear is never logical, Harm."  
  
"Emotions rarely are."  
  
We were both silent for a moment, soaking in all of these new revelations.  
  
"I've never met anyone like you before, Mac. And I've met a lot of great people. I admire the way you overcame the incredibly hard and hurtful things in your past. You've learned to trust men, to try to give love a chance. You're stronger than me in that respect."  
  
"I think you're pretty wonderful, too. You're brave, loyal, kind, honest. You're…you're every girl's dream man, Harm."  
  
A soft breeze blew over us. I could smell traces of the sea and her shampoo.  
  
"I don't want to lose you, Mac. I tried not to get too dependent on you being there. After losing so many people I've cared about…Hell, I spent over half of my life just searching for my father. After I found out what happened to him, I felt so empty. The closest I came to contentment was when I was near you. If I ever lost you..."   
  
She placed a hand on my cheek, gently dragging me out of the pit of fear.  
  
"I've already told you before, Harm, that's not going to happen. We'll always have each other," she stated, but I still saw the uncertainty in her eyes.  
  
"Seems like we've had this conversation before."  
  
"My engagement party. I left feeling more confused than I thought possible. You always seem to have that effect on me."  
  
"Care to change the ending this time?"  
  
She paused pensively and then I saw her shiver. I wasn't sure if it was because the thin straps of her gown afforded little protection from the salty air, or because of some secret rush of remembrance. I wrapped my arms around her body to shelter her from the chill.  
  
"It's difficult enough making a relationship work in the military. But now, you're in the CIA, and I'm at JAG. You'll be traveling to God knows where, on dangerous assignments. I'll be traveling on investigations for JAG. We'll miss more than we hit."  
  
"Mac…"  
  
"And yet, I know I'll never get over you, Harm. Believe me, I've tried, it just won't work."  
  
I moved my hand to her face and looked her in the eyes solemnly.  
  
"If there's one thing I know now, more than ever, Mac, it's that we absolutely cannot waste what time we have left." She remained silent. "Do you want to see if it'll work? Whatever happens, happens, but we'll always be friends, Mac. No matter what."  
  
She hesitated and then leaned in and brushed a soft kiss across my lips. I was surprised by her silent, but very welcome response. Then, she sighed and laid her head on my shoulder, and we sat there watching the ageless, foamy waves roll in and out. Lapping at the beach, as they had for others old and young alike, centuries before us, and would continue to for centuries after we were gone and forgotten.   
  
The End 


End file.
